When I was 12 weeks pregnant with my first, I reluctantly signed up for an eight-week prenatal class. Thanks to my Ob-Gyn – one of the best in the city – I already knew the basics: avoid alcohol, load up on fruits and veggies, get enough calcium. Coffee? Not a problem, she told me, so long as it’s in moderation. Alcohol? Steer clear. Folic acid? Consume religiously.
Being an information junkie, I also went online to research everything from epidurals to organic crib sheets. I bought the obvious books but was disheartened to read such old-school advice such as, “Get your husband to cook dinner one night if you’re feeling extra tired,” or, “Go ahead, pamper yourself with a pedicure – you deserve it!” (Perhaps I would appreciated the tips had it been oh, I don’t know, 1962?!)
On day one of prenatal class, I was looking forward to meeting the other moms-to-be – cool chicks with careers and aspirations and strong feelings about impending motherhood. Instead, I got a bunch of overly neurotic-types stressing about unpasteurized cheese and babymoons. More »